


Cover Boy Wonder

by jasonptodd



Series: BruJay Fic Exchange [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Cocaine, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, M/M, Underage Drug Use, look i'm sorry for fucking up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasonptodd/pseuds/jasonptodd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Todd has been in the model business since he was fourteen, which is a very young age, even for a young industry. His first Vogue photo shoot was headlined “The Boy Wonder”, and despite the fact that Jason can look very why-yes-sir-I’m-old-enough-for-this-vodka, he knows exactly he fulfils the nearly illegal cravings Gotham City’s high society is too ashamed to admit perfectly well. And since Jason Todd is everything but stupid, he takes what he can get: Business men, and hotel chain heirs, and married post-midlife crisis Wall Street bankers, and all of them preferably more than thirty years old and with that guilt in their faces when the boy who borders illegal bites his lip and makes them all go crazy with one bat of his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The underwear jobs are the most fun for Jason.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but he just likes the glances everyone throws in his direction when he’s wearing the most frivolous underwear that gives away _just that much_ (as if he couldn’t see them). Usually some trainee making coffee starts, looking at him when she thinks he’s too busy (he never is) and smiling a bit to herself while scurrying about the set. She’s followed by a stylist who, despite his very heterosexual reputation – which Jason has seen vanished into thin air on quite a few parties –, can’t help peeping a bit, but at least tries to make it seem professional.

The last one is always the photographer, and making him squirm and cringe is the best part of the shootings. Always the most professional of them all, he orders Jason to lean a bit more to the right because the light is better that way, thank you, very good, and asks him to put his right arm around the girl model sitting on his lap and leaning ever further into him (he knows she’ll scrawl her number on a piece of paper torn from her notebook later on, and ask him to meet up some time, as if she didn’t know in his three-year party history he’s never ended up with a girl on his room).

In the end, the photographer rushes through the last fifteen takes and vanishes to the toilet directly after. Jason thinks about whether he’s worth following, but then decides against it. He still got a clubbing night ahead where he’ll have plenty of opportunities to satisfy whichever needs he has.

No, he wouldn’t change the underwear jobs for _anything_ in the world, not even for the Milan runways, or the Vogue cover shootings, because despite his agent telling him to take those jobs all the time because _Jason, they push your career like rocket fuel_ , he has become a model for one reason after all: He likes the looks.

 

Jason remembers the first months, when his name did not guarantee him entrance into the coolest clubs in town, and his age was actually an obstacle for his nights out, and he had to spell out his last name – Todd, no, double d – to be put on the guest list _for the next time, honey, or when you’re old enough_. He can only grin now at the naivety he used to display, being fourteen and oh-so new and innocent to Gotham’s party scene, when he shows his ID to the doorman of the Poisoned Door, the newest and retro-est club to find in Gotham City.

“Yeah, go in”, the doorman says without even looking at the ID and Jason nods in Roy’s and Kori’s direction. “They’re my friends”, he says.

Inside, the air is heavy and the music is already so loud Jason doesn’t understand what Roy screams in his ear, so this is bound to become a good night. Jason points to the bar and Roy nods, laughing and pulling Kori to the dance floor.

Jason orders three caipirinhas and scans the room for possible hits, finding few to none (but the night is young and he is nearly sober). When the bar tender hands him the drinks, he throws a one hundred dollar note on the bar and walks to the dance floor without awaiting the change. He doesn’t find Roy and Kori instantly, so he downs one caipirinha by himself and puts the glass on the stairs to the second dance floor. Right. They’ve probably gone upstairs or to the toilet – as if he didn’t know what they were up to every fucking night they went out together – and actually he couldn’t care less.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and when Jason turns around, he sees an all too well-known face. “HEY!”, Dick screams at him, grinning like an idiot – to be fair, it gives a fairly realistic picture of his personality –, and Jason could throw up when he realizes he’s actually spent three months on this guy – not cool, bro, not cool –, so he grins back and downs another caipirinha – he needs it, goddammit –. “HOW YOU DOIN, LITTLE WING?”, Dick shouts and wow, Jason actually hears what he’s saying, but still he pretends not to and shakes his head, laughing and downing the last caipirinha – okay, now nobody can blame him because meeting exes really requires some drinks – while he dances a bit to the right and backward – please, Dick, just go _away_ , seriously –, until he bumps against something very _big_ and when he turns around and looks up, a man looks at him that can only be described as.

  


Well.

Hot.

  


(At this point a thing about Jason Peter Todd must be explained. Jason Todd has been in the model business since he was fourteen, which is a very young age, even for a young industry. His first Vogue photo shoot was headlined “The Boy Wonder”, and despite the fact that Jason can look very why-yes-sir-I’m-old-enough-for-this-vodka, he knows exactly he fulfils the nearly illegal cravings Gotham City’s high society is too ashamed to admit perfectly well. And since Jason Todd is everything but stupid, he takes what he can get: Business men, and hotel chain heirs, and married post-midlife crisis Wall Street bankers, and all of them preferably more than thirty years old and with that guilt in their faces when the boy who borders illegal bites his lip and makes them all go crazy with one bat of his eyes.

Jason Todd likes to see them dance, and he likes to make them dance.)

  


The man is, first of all, tall – at least 6’6 –. He looks forty-ish, or maybe even a bit older – hard to tell in the age of Botox and wellness hotels –, wears a custom-made dark blue – or dark violet, that’s a bit tough to distinguish under the club lights – silk suit which goes perfectly with his Alexander McQueen shoes.

Jason can’t help but smile his most lascivious smile, while the man probably apologizes – but Jason can’t lip-read, and doesn’t really care –, and dance closer. He feels the caipirinhas now, but it’s not enough, by far not, so he decides to go to the bar once more, but as soon as he heads in the direction, the man holds him by the shoulder, and shouts something in his ear, and Jason has no idea what he’s saying, but he likes the feel of his breath on his ear.

The man sighs and pulls him from the dance floor – but hey, that’s Jason’s favourite song, why would you do that? –.

“Was he harassing you?”, the man asks and points into Dick’s direction – probably, since Jason has no idea where Dick has gone to –. “Dick? Nah, it's fine, he just lives up to his name,” Jason grins, and then realizes he hasn’t got anything to drink. “Listen, you’re really sweet, but I’m just going to head off to the bar for a sec, right?” And he pulls from the grip the man’s holding him in and turns around to where he guesses the bar is.

“Wait, are you even old enough to -?”, the man calls after him, but his words are swallowed by the ever-growing bass that goes through Jason’s bones, and actually Jason is fairly sure that the man will come back (they all do).

On his way to the bar he meets a few friends and drags them along, because he feels like shots, and doesn’t want to down them alone.

“Shots for us”, he screams at the bar tender and hands him a one hundred dollar note – or two hundred, as if that made a difference –.

He’s at his third, when Sarah leans over and shouts “Already met the Wayne, as I see?”

“What?”, Jason screams back.

“Wayne, Bruce Wayne. The guy who talked to you, before.”

The music is now significantly louder, and Jason is significantly drunker – more drunk – than when he entered the club, so he has to put a lot of effort into understanding Sarah.

“Who’s that?”, he screams when he’s got it.

Sarah laughs. “You don’t know him? He’s like, the richest guy ever. His parents died when he was like, ten, and he owns Wayne Manor, and he throws rad parties, they say, but he rarely goes out to the City, and if he does, he leaves at like ten p.m. I’d say you’ve been lucky, boy!”

  


(Another fact about Jason Todd: He dislikes luck. The world is, to Jason Todd, the result of his work and not some universe’s lucky constellation. There are no coincidences. So when Sarah says he’s been lucky, that’s a challenge for Jason to prove her otherwise.)

  


Jason leaves the club a few minutes after he’s downed his sixth shot to smoke a cigarette. As he lights it, he sees a man disappear into a limousine parked behind the club. A man who’s at least 6’6 tall and wears a silk suit.

“HEY!”, Jason shouts.

The man turns around.

And gets out of the car.

Jason isn’t someone to make swift decisions (wait, yes he is, actually).

So he runs to the car.

“You”, the man says, obviously confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I know your name, you’re called Bruce Wayne”, Jason says, out of breath, and still holding his half-lit cigarette in his hand. “And I know you live in Wayne manor, and throw rad parties, and you leave most parties at ten p.m., but not this one because I was there, right, hi, I’m Jason.”

“You’re – Jason Todd”, Bruce Wayne says, even more confused.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am”, Jason replies, pleased with the fact that Bruce Wayne knows his name.

“You should go home, boy, you’re not even eighteen, are you?”

(And damn, Bruce Wayne has got a voice that is like two octaves below normal, and Jason is becoming _so so desperate_ now.)

“Yeah, but, no, no, I’m not going home, I’ve got a few more clubs to go”, and Jason is fairly sure he shouldn’t be talking like that to a man who treats him like his father would, but then again that’s what always works.

“You could come with me”, he splutters out.

“I’m sorry, kid, but you should probably really go home now. As I will.”

(Deeds are better than words, Jason thinks.)

He leans forward and kisses the man, and he pays special attention to pulling his tartan shirt down and displaying his abs very obviously and also, when he pushes forward, he knows how tight his leather trousers are.

So it comes as a bit of surprise when Bruce – yeah, on a first name basis, that’s more comfortable – pushes Jason away.

“What the _fuck_?”, Jason squeals, because that’s _just not fair_.

“You’re drunk”, Bruce says, very determined.

“Yeah, and you wanna fuck me”, Jason replies. “You do realize where this is headed?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

  


And then he gets into the car and drives away and Jason is left with his cigarette that has now died.

And the rest of the night is boring, endlessly tiring, and the coke Jason takes together with the Vice President’s son and the girl who made it to the cover of the Cosmopolitan last week doesn’t really make it better, so he decides to fuck it all and heads home at the unusually early time of three am (and he hasn’t even fucked anyone).

  


Three days later he’s doing a shoot for InStyle and while he’s undressing and puts on his jeans, wondering who the fuck chose the fabric for this year's 7 For All Mankind collection, he overhears two girls talking about the party Bruce Wayne is about to throw this weekend.

He stops for a second and listens.

“Yeah, I heard it’s the first party he’s thrown in like, _two months_ , since his last...well, you know _, toy boy_ left Wayne Manor, and he seems to look for a new one. Funny how all the girls always head there, as if there was anything in that direction Bruce Wayne would take interest in.”

“Yeah, I heard he deliberately searches the clubs weeks before his parties to find guys suited to his...needs. But then again, that could be urban legend. Also I’m so weirded out by him, like seriously, he lives in this Manor all on his own? And there’s no one around except for those underage guys he kinks himself on?”

Jason takes a note on his iPhone, but he already knows he won’t need it.

“Bring me home. I gotta be at Wayne Manor at nine p.m.”, he orders his driver as soon as he drops his shopping bags and himself on the backseat of his limousine.

His agent isn’t pleased, not at all.

“Jason, you’ll ruin your reputation. You’re publicity’s baby right now, but that can and will change as soon as you invest yourself with people like...”

“Like what? It’s my fucking business who I fuck. Now lemme choose my outfit. Bye.”

He hangs up.

  


He can’t decide what to wear for thirty annoying minutes, but then he goes for the simple black-and-white look, with a white, low-cut shirt and his black leather trousers – they seem tighter every time and he _likes_ how they make him look really slutty.

Jason shows up at the party at half past nine, which is way too early, but he’s got a lot to do. He downs a few glasses of champagne and introduces himself to a few girls who are here on holiday, and he even makes out with one of them before eleven, but then he remembers why he’s actually here.

It’s weird how the host doesn’t appear at all, even when the hall is full of people and the party is going fairly wild.

When the first people start dancing in champagne baths, Jason decides this is too decadent even for him, and sets off to find the host.

He enters a room with a huge desk and quite a few bookshelves. Apparently that’s Bruce’s (he likes that name) office.

Jason is bored, and that’s why he does what he would probably never do were he sober (which he isn’t, really not, oh god he’s so drunk and this is _fun_ ): He goes through the desk drawers.

Which leads to a rather interesting discovery.

Him. In underwear.

He finds them all, the Vogue shoot, the Playboy one – oh god, he really needed it back then, didn’t he? –, fucking hell, even the Cosmopolitan Shoot that’s not even been fucking published yet, oh my God.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Whoops.

“Nothing”, Jason says as he turns around, trying to push the photographs back into the drawer inconspicuously and comes face to face with a clearly pissed Bruce Wayne.

“Nice house you got there”, he says, and god fuck it, he isn’t nervous, no.

“How did you even get in here?”, Bruce demands.

“Good looks and good manners. Which you, obviously, don’t have”, Jason replies and moves away from the desk. “Or you’d at least show up on your own party. I was getting drunk all alone, that’s not the polite kind of treating your guests, is it now?”

“You weren’t invited”, Bruce says.

“Yeah, and why? Were you afraid of how I’d – kick ass on your party? How I’d outshine the world’s _most wanted bachelor_? Yeah, I googled you, alright!”

Jason feels really high now, but it’s okay because he gets to punch the guy in his face who rejected him – well, figuratively, that is.

“I don’t need to run after you. Just thought I’d sorta – _crash_ your party, but hey, there wasn’t a lot to crash there now, was it? This is boring, and I can’t think of one reason you threw this, uh, party you call it, except for – me?”

His voice goes up at the end of the sentence although he didn’t intend it as a question.

Bruce doesn’t say anything for a while (or two seconds, let’s be honest, who can measure time exactly when they’re drunk?), and then he says: “I want you to leave my house, Jason.”

“Uh, no”, Jason replies while looking to his fingernails and moving closer very subtly, “actually you don’t.”

And then he catches Bruce’s look and realizes how fucking turned on he is, okay. And how desperate. And how Bruce is just the same.

Jason moves closer.

(Bruce doesn’t back off.)

Jason moves his head closer to Bruce’s.

(Bruce doesn’t back off.)

Jason kisses Bruce.

(Bruce doesn’t back off.

In fact, he pushes back and the kiss becomes more heated and almost obscene, as Bruce pushes Jason into his desk, and murmurs into his mouth: “You fucking _planned_ this”, and yeah, Jason might have. But to be fair, he’s the minor here.)

Jason pulls off his shirt and Bruce breathes in sharply. “Fuck”, he whispers, “fuck fuck fuck”, and if Jason isn’t totally wrong, this is a response not many people manage to elicit from the _most wanted bachelor in the world_.

Jason grins into the kiss and shortly before he pulls away, he puts on his most innocent face.

“Can you fuck me?”, he asks kindly, and Bruce doesn’t seem too excited about this idea, but then Jason adds: “...daddy?” and he knows he got the man.

“I can’t...you’re too...I’m”, Bruce breathes, but Jason knows he got him one hundred per cent.

He pulls the older man closer. “You want this and I want this, it’s that easy.”

And then he kisses Bruce once more, adding, “also you can teach me a lot... _daddy_.”

(Bruce realizes the extra emphasis, of course he does. Jason likes playboys who even get what you’re telling them.)

Jason wraps his legs around Bruce and starts thrusting against him without any further word.

Bruce sighs (or moans, that’s hard to tell).

Which is annoying, as Jason is really fucking hard by now and just _needs_ the release.

“God”, Jason pants, while thrusting against Bruce, “yes, fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_ ”, and Bruce is obviously turned on by that, or else he wouldn’t start thrusting back, and then Jason zips Bruce’s trousers open and, heck yeah, the whole effort was definitely not for nothing.

“Fuck”, Jason breathes as he looks at Bruce’s cock, which is, even for Jason (who’s used to, let’s say, plus sizes), quite a challenge – which he is willing to take, though.

“...me”, he adds.

Bruce looks at him mildly irritated, and then Jason can’t see anymore how Bruce looks at him because he moves down and starts sucking the very tip of Bruce’s cock, but he can hear Bruce moaning and going off like crazy above him, and that’s what he really lives for, and Jason almost comes from the sound of a billionaire at least twice his age gasping his name, and his dick strains against the front of his trousers – damn, why did he choose the leather pants?

Bruce pulls him up and kisses him, fiercely, and he tastes of strawberry vodka, and Jason _likes_ the taste, so he pushes in and moans “yes, daddy”, and Bruce seems to almost come right there, and Jason decides to go just that bit further and gasps, “fuck me, please, daddy, fuck me” and Bruce moans “no, no, Jason”, and Jason pulls down his trousers – well, if you won’t – and the sound of his name makes it so much _sweeter_ and then he jerks himself off and with a gasp he comes all over Bruce’s pants and the orgasm takes a bit to wear off, but when it does, he glides down and starts sucking Bruce off and he savours the taste because this is _heaven_ and Bruce fucks his mouth mercilessly and when he comes, Jason swallows everything, “like the slut you are”, Bruce comments.

Jason gets up and wipes his mouth. “Yeah, but you liked it”, he grins.

(And I did, too.)

“I’ll have to change now”, Bruce sighs.

“I could help you”, Jason smiles.

“Nah. Might take even longer.”

Jason shrugs.

“I know where to find you now”, he says, and then he’s out of the room, and could grin for eternities because this was the nicest night he’s had in a while.

 

Jason sees Bruce again exactly a week after, in a pub he doesn’t frequent very often, and this time he’s blind fucking drunk and doesn’t know how to walk or see straight. (He finds this pun endlessly funny, by the way, but no one else does.)

Bruce talks to some men in suits, probably a business meeting, it looks a lot like this – and Jason doesn’t know why he wants to fuck Bruce so badly, usually he’s satisfied with a blow job, or two, but somehow not this time – and so he walks up to them and asks how it’s going, and Bruce says, very awkwardly, “I’m sorry, sirs”, and pulls Jason away and pushes him against the wall next to the toilets.

“What are you doing here, boy?”, he hisses.

“Trying to have some fun, I guess”, Jason shrugs, “also I wasn’t expecting you either, so be cool.”

“I can’t be cool when you show up here blind drunk and I get into trouble because I’m connected to...”

“To what? A hooker?”, Jason pulls himself away from Bruce, “you do know I’m a model, right? I didn’t fuck you because I _need_ it or something, I did it because I _wanted_ to. And it wasn’t _that_ good either.”

“I didn’t mean...”, Bruce says, but Jason doesn’t even care anymore.

“I could fuck you here and right now, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to me”, he hisses, “and I could fuck every one of your business partners, and it wouldn’t mean a fucking thing. And I know you printed out my shoots, and I know you get off on me. Who do you think you are, my – dad or what?” He grins.

(And he got Bruce. Again.)

(He blows Bruce in the toilets, afterwards, and Jason thinks it’s pretty nice how desperate Bruce pushes into him, and moans his name and Jason tells him his second name, and Bruce moans it like the fucking needy brat he is.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason's agent is a fuckin idiot.  
> And Jason's a busy little birdie.
> 
> And an awkward phone call!!

Jason wakes up with a disgusting taste in his mouth the next day – Monday, he thinks, but he’s not very sure – and with his phone ringing.

“Jason.” It’s his agent.

“Mhhggmpf.”

“Your pictures are on every fucking newspaper in the fucking country.”

“Mpf.”

“Jason, fucking listen to me, there are pictures of you and Bruce Wayne on every newspaper that is there.”

“Jason, this is _**the best publicity stunt you ever did**_.”

“What?”

“Vogue wants you back again, and the InStyle chief editor called me, and you got a contract with Urban Outfitters.”

“ _What_?”

“Jason, this is perfect, you have to announce you’re together, the fashion world is going _wild_ over you two!”

“ _ **WHAT?**_ ”

Jason groans into his pillow.

Great.

Great great greatgreatgreatgreat.

Fuck.

  


He decides to put that part of his life aside for a few days as he's got loads of shoots in London and Paris coming up and they're a welcome excuse for ignoring the ache in his stomach (and below) every time he looks at his mobile.

In the end, it takes him six days to call Bruce.

Six days because after and during the shoots he does, he is busy being interviews by as it seems the entire collection of gossip magazines which all ask the same questions.

_How does the world's most famous seventeen-year-old deal with homophobia?_

_Is age difference an issue for you in relationships?_

_Would you describe your sexuality as a career boost or rather an obstacle?_

  


He agrees to answering the questions because his agent praises them as rocket fuel for his career for the upcoming season.

On the sixth day, however, he calls his agent and tells her to ensure none of the interviews get printed.

She's furious. Tells him that they're about to have the coup of coups. That he misses a chance not likely to come up again. That he will need the press sooner or later. That this will polarize the fashion world, making his appearance on runways in the upcoming a/w season a demanded sight by brands and audience alike and creating an image others work years for.

She doesn't ask why he wants the interviews cancelled.

That's maybe good because Jason wouldn't know how to explain it, how to explain that he doesn't want _PEOPLE_ and _SPOT!_ and _gossip_ to tell him about his relationship – his affair – his whatever before he himself has understood what this is about. For now, he doesn't even know what he'd say if he met Bruce again. When he meets Bruce again.

But six days are a long time, and eight cocktails are a lot to drink, and so Jason finds himself lying on a king-sized bed in the Paris Ritz and dialing Bruce's number.

“Wayne Manor, good morning, who is this?”, a voice answers that is clearly not Bruce's.

What a fucking asshole. He could at least have given Jason his private number, given that he blew the fucker in his office.

“Is Bruce there?”, Jason asks.

“Who is this?”, the voice inquires.

Jason sighs. “Jason”, he says, finally, “Jason Todd.”

There is a long pause and Jason isn't even sure the voice hasn't hung up, and then there's a darker, lower, _nicer_ voice.

“Hello?”

Jason doesn't know what to say.

Which doesn't happen often.

Then again, he also rarely calls up one night stands who rejected his first kiss.

“Uh...hi”, he finally says, and it sounds fucking lame.

“It's me. Jason. Todd.”

“Jason!”, Bruce says with a hint of surprise in his voice, and a bit of something else Jason doesn't even want to make out.

All of a sudden Jason doesn't know why he called.

Seconds pass.

Then he finally collects himself, fucking hell, you just wanna have a nice fuck again ( _really, Jason_ ), now fucking go ahead already.

“You – uh, I'm back in town in a few days and I just wanted to ask if you – maybe you got some time? Not this week”, he adds hastily, “cause I'm in Paris at the moment, and then I'll be around Milan and Germany for – for interviews, but I'm back in Gotham next week, and I don't have any plans yet for after Tuesday, so –”

His voice trails off.

There is a long silence on the other end of the line.

(Jesus, this was easier when he didn't call up people but just fucked whoever was in his way. And Dick – but that's another story altogether, and he was glad he could end it easily.)

Bruce sighs.

And silence again, and Jason stares up at the wall.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

  


Jason is pretty sure it's a bad sign he falls asleep grinning as if he was five years old.

The week turns out to be long and exhausting and annoying. However, Jason does take a certain satisfaction out of the knowledge all of his shoots will end up in Bruce's desk, so he adds some extras, becomes just a bit more eager and frivolous, smiles his most lascivious smiles and bites his lip on so many pictures _just that much_.

The photographers are mindblown; the interviewers are delighted; his agent is absolutely stunned.

Exactly a week after the Paris phone call Jason returns to Gotham, and when Jason sits in his jet and swallows one aspirin after the other, hating himself for going to the after party yesterday, he finds himself weirdly excited for the upcoming days.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes.

_Tonight, 8 pm, La Ménagerie?_

Jason grins. He likes that, the question mark indicating it's ultimately his choice, as if Jason didn't know La Ménagerie hat a reputation for its impressively long reservations list – standard waiting time five months, but Jason's sneaked in too often to be impressed now. He likes the idea of Bruce trying to impress him, though. Or, worse, trying to prove something.

But if this is a game, then Jason Todd will play along. And he will win.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow my first gay sex, that was exciting.  
> also jason is too cool 4 u and bruce, which is why he fucks up constantly.  
> i love jason todd.

He's twenty minutes late ( _fashionably_ so), spotting Bruce instantly (he's hard to overlook). He sits at a table that is rather dimly lit, on the right-hand side of the room.

Jason tells his bodyguards to stay put outside of the restaurant and drive away any paparazzi that might be too curious.

  


“Hey there”, he grins as he sits down.

Bruce shifts in his seat and finally manages a “Hello”, without even looking into Jason's eyes.

(He's seen that so often, they all want to convince themselves it's not an actual seventeen-year-old boy in front of them, want to believe they're innocent in this.

Jason loves to break them.)

“Nice place”, Jason grins.

“Uh – thanks. Thank you.”

Bruce seems so tight and all tensed up. Jason will have to put a bit more effort into this if he wants it to work (and fuck, how much he wants this. His jeans already feel tighter than when he walked in, and seeing Bruce so cool and hostile hasn't made it better).

He orders a gin and tonic. Bruce orders water.

When the water has brought their drinks, Jason leans forward.

“I don't bite, you know”, he mumbles and leaves a well-placed pause. “Except if you want me to”, he adds then, and he knows this will be exhausting for both of them, but he's never been one to deny challenges if they present themselves so obviously. So he'll crack this one, too.

Bruce straightens up and with an ice cold feeling Jason knows exactly what is about to follow.

(Not that it would change his plans. He's had this conversation a few times, usually not in this surrounding and almost sober, but his strategy stays the same. He's talked this through too many times that he wouldn't know how to react; been in this exact spot countless times, the seemingly innocent boy who _doesn't know what he's being pulled into_ , _can't estimate the consequences of this_ , and all he knows is that it won't be his problem at all if this comes out. But he guesses that's probably what comes with the irresistible need to run after guys who could easily be his father.

Still, it's a waste of time and it bores him to death because it's always the _same_ :

 _We need to talk._ )

Bruce breathes in sharply. “Jason, we need to talk.”

( _You're a young boy, someone your age could maybe suit you better._ )

“I'm not saying I didn't enjoy this – because I did. But you're – young, and you might – might want someone your age rather than me.”

Jason taps on his glass and waits for Bruce to finish.

( _I think it would be better for you if we kept a bit of distance._ )

“So maybe we could just – not meet any more.”

Jason leans back, slowly rocking his chair back and forth.

( _And you don't know what you're getting yourself into._ )

“Because I'm afraid you maybe overlook the consequences this could have for you.”

Jason raises his eyebrows.

( _Considering you're really very young._ )

“You're only sixteen, after all.”

Jason decides to cut Bruce off right there.

“Seventeen, actually. And I know what you think. I know you think I'm a cute little virgin in a world full of big bad guys. I know you think if you let this happen you'll be one of the bad guys. And I know you believe you wanna protect me, but that's bullshit. Because here's the thing”, he leans forward again, “I'm neither a virgin nor do I need someone to protect me. I'm doing _very_ fine on my own. And you know that very well. So this is not about me. This is about you trying to pull yourself out before you realize how wrong this will turn out to be, how wrong _you_ will turn out to be. This is about _your_ reputation, and yours alone. And you lost control pretty long ago, I'd guess it was when I showed up at your home for the first time, but in truth you probably knew how this was gonna end from the moment I ran into you in the club. So if _any_ of us is gonna end this, it'll be me. Which I won't, because so far the ride's been pretty fun. So spare me the _are you old enough_ shit.”

He sits up straight again.

Bruce thoughtfully sips on his water for a long time.

Then he nods.

“Okay.”

Jason smiles. Easier than expected.

“But just to clarify”, Bruce continues, “this is one hundred per cent what you want?”

Jason sighs.

“If it wasn't, do you think I'd still be here?”, he asks but can't help feeling a little sympathy for the man. If he isn't totally wrong, Bruce is actually _concerned_ and that's _very_ cute.

Bruce shrugs. “Alright”, he admits and the corner of his mouth curves upward. “I couldn't keep you away if I wanted to, could I?”

Jason shakes his head and empties his glass with one last gulp.

When the waiter comes round, Jason orders another cocktail – a caipirinha, as a reminiscence to the night he first met Bruce, and because he really likes caipirinhas –, and then another, and later another, while talking to Bruce about meaningless issues he won't remember in a few hours.

“Goin' to the bathroom for a bit”, he says while putting his sixth – or seventh? – glass back on the table, half-full (been an optimist all the way through, or he wouldn't have made it here), and dearly hopes Bruce at least takes _this_ hint.

When he gets up, his legs shakes a bit and he has to hold onto the table in order not no trip. Bruce reaches out a hand, but Jason waves him away. “I'm fine, man”, he mumbles.

“Jason...”, Bruce says and fuck, does he sound _worried_?

Jason waves him off again.

I've _got_ him, he thinks. I've got him so much.

And that's a good feeling, and he can't stop grinning to himself when he goes to the toilet, and he's so busy doing that that after a while someone knocks at the door of the stall and that deep, _nice_ voice calls: “Are you alright? You've been in there for ten minutes!”

And Jason does what he always does, being the reckless bastard he is.

He opens the door and pulls Bruce in, probably too fast and too overdone, but as he grinds against Bruce's trousers and discovers the man is at least as hard as he is, he hardly finds it in himself to care.

“Jason, what –”

“This is the point where you shut up”, Jason hisses and smashes their mouths together as if he hadn't touched another human being in _years_.

“You're – we're – in public”, Bruce groans, and Jason smirks. “Half of the fun”, he whispers and proceeds to zip Bruce's trousers open that look suspiciously much like the Tom Ford s/s collection and pulls them down. Bruce watches him for a while, a kind of amazed look in his eyes, but as Jason drops to his knees and takes in the head of his cock, he pulls Jason's head away, breathing “No, _wait_ ”, and Jason hears how hard it must be for Bruce to contain himself and it's _so fucking hot_.

“I'm impatient, big man”, Jason mutters more to himself than to Bruce, but wow, did Bruce's cock just twitch a bit upon those words?

Bruce sighs audibly and pulls Jason up so he's standing upright, looking up to Bruce with the most innocent smile he's capable of. “Listen”, Bruce says quietly, “ _if_ we are going to this, it won't be here and now.”

Jason closes his eyes for a bit, then opens them again, staring down at Bruce's pants, hardly restraining what's there, and it makes him smile.

Bruce seems to regain his composure, meanwhile, and that's when Jason decides to smash it once more.

And Jason looks up to him, for the first time this evening with no eyelash-batting or lip-biting involved, and says, very quiet and honest-to-God: “I want you to fuck me.”

  


They don't finish their drinks.

Also Jason is pretty sure he's never seen a limousine arriving faster.

They hardly make it into the car before Bruce pulls Jason into a long, hard, smeary kiss that involves a whole lot more biting and hair-tugging than Jason would have expected, but he'd be lying if he said this wasn't something that could make him hard as fuck.

Does, in fact, and Bruce realizes that pretty soon as Jason slides over and positions himself on Bruce's lap, legs spread and Bruce's hands on his ass.

Jason moans into Bruce's mouth because his trousers seem so _tight_ by now and Bruce laughs, low and rough again and Jason _seriously_ can't stay like this much longer.

It's a relief they're at Wayne Manor after a few minutes' ride, even though the elevator ride upstairs turns out to be a challenge for both of them, Jason pushed up to the side, grabbing Bruce's arms and grinning like a fucking madman into the kiss.

The wait's been worth it though, Jason thinks as he steps out of the elevator into a huge bedroom featuring a super king-sized bed that could probably hold ten or more people safely (well, depending what those ten people were up to), a flat screen TV at least eighty inches in diameter, and pillows spread throughout the room. Jason whistles appreciatively and Bruce lets out a little content hum.

“You like it?”, he asks. Jason grins and flips onto the bed, pushing himself up with one hand. “You kiddin'? I _love_ it!”, he laughs and is actually genuinely impressed for the first time this night.

Dirty club toilets are one kind of thing, and he loves penthouses, but a _manor_ – that's something else entirely. And he has seen a lot of bedrooms in his life, if nothing else. But even the most impressive of them were only rented for one night. So this, here: is heaven. Or at least he hopes it'll turn out to be.

Bruce clears his throat.

“You want something to drink?”, he asks, a bit uncomfortably.

Jason shrugs, staring up at the ceiling, painted in a really gruesome pink-lilac color which doesn't fit the rest of the room at all. “Gin Tonic, if you don't mind”, he suggests, rolling over to inspect the content of the wardrobe on the left side of the bed while Bruce leaves the room.

Lube and condoms – that was obvious -, but also a rather interesting collection of colourful toys that he really has to keep in mind.

When Bruce comes back with two glasses of Gin Tonic, handing one to Jason, he empties it in one gulp, feeling the dizziness from the drinks at the restaurant fade already.

Bruce clears his throat again, but before he can speak, Jason interrupts. “Yes. I still want to. Now get on with it or I'll have to take care of that myself”, and he points to his trousers which have never seemed tighter before.

Apparently that's the magical word (keep that in mind, too), because Bruce practically throws himself forward and Jason _loves_ it, the feel of the older man trying not to put all his weight on Jason but still pinning him down easily, loves the touch of Bruce's mouth on his, rough and straight-forward, never asking, just taking, loves _everything_ about Bruce actually and -

Fuck.

But then again, he thinks as he strips off his shirt and unbuttons Bruce's, arching up as obscenely as he can, he should have seen this coming: there was never any way out of this he could have taken without losing at least half of his mind.

So he'll rather have this than pining endlessly like a fucking lovesick teenager – because he's Jason Todd and he takes what he wants without asking.

(Why is he scared, then?)

(Maybe because he's never been this far before. Maybe because he's always been in charge before and right now he's _losing control_.)

He pushes Bruce up and turns him, so he's on top now, and Bruce doesn't question it – thank God – because Jason wouldn't know what to say. But he reminds himself he can be in charge again easily, this is just a quick fuck, nothing else, and he is Jason Todd, _he controls a fucking industry if he wants to so a billionaire lusting after him shouldn't be too hard_. (It's only some fucking, purely physical, 's all.)

He unzips Bruce's trousers for the second time that night and has to smile when he realizes Bruce has been hard as least as long as he, so it's not difficult getting a response when he starts grinding his hips against Bruce's.

The friction quickly becomes too much, so Jason can't get his trousers off quickly enough. When Bruce's clothes are finally out of the way and Jason's only got his underpants on, he takes a moment to appreciate Bruce's cock, hot and heavy and _big_ , and he runs his index finger over it a few times until Bruce growls “wait” and rolls over to get the lube and the condoms. When he's got them, Jason sits down on his hips, causing Bruce to groan loudly. Jason slides forward, feeling Bruce's cock leak precome on his underpants.

(Yeah. Purely physical, all of it.)

“God, yes”, Jason moans, closing a fist around Bruce's cock.

The older man stares up, almost _helplessly_ , gripping lube and condoms tightly in his left hand while the right one is busy pulling Jason's ass closer. Jason proceeds to jerk him off – not even because he's being nice, he just loves the feeling of Bruce in his hand.

After a while Bruce pushes Jason away, gently, but resolutely, and turns Jason over.

“Legs apart”, he commands and Jason might get even harder if Bruce keeps talking to him as if he were giving orders.

“Yeah”, he smiles, unable to form a sentence and spreads his legs eagerly, shaking off his underpants already smeared with precome.

Bruce, meanwhile lubes his fingers thoroughly and then runs a finger down Jason's spine. The cold lube and the delicate touch make Jason buck up and it takes all of his self-control to keep himself from just jerking off already. “Please –”, he gasps. Bruce smiles. “What?”, he asks, voice a bit shaky and _oh god_ , Jason's pretty sure this ranks among the five best fucks he's ever received _though they haven't even started yet_.

“Please fuck me”, he whispers, looking up to Bruce at last whose flushed cheeks indicate very clearly he's just as desperate as Jason is.

“Can't say no if you ask that nicely”, Bruce mutters and _finally_ presses one finger in.

Jason bucks up and groans immediately. It's not enough and at the same time too much, but all he knows is he never wants this to stop.

Then Bruce adds a second and a third finger and Jason _can't fucking speak anymore_ , so he just moans incomprehensible words and babbles names and begs and does everything just to keep Bruce moving. Bruce removes his fingers just as Jason bites the pillow, desperate for release ( _and it's all about this and it never was about anything else and he – loves the feeling – of course he does – but nothing else_ ).

Jason lets out a disapproving groan that is cut off by Bruce pushing his cock in and Jason bites the pillow even harder because he doesn't think he's ever felt that _full_ before. “Oh _god_ ”, Bruce gasps above him as he pushes in even more, “you're so – _tight_.”

(Now there's a reputation if Jason ever had one.)

Finally Bruce has pushed all the way in and the overstimulation takes hold of Jason, pressing him down to the sheets while he grips the pillow as tight as he can. “Fuck”, he breathes because his mind doesn't exactly provide him with more. Bruce pulls out quicker than expected, and as Jason turns around, he sees him frowning. “Are you alright?”, Bruce asks _too softly_ , and Jason wants to scream at him and not talk at all at the same time because _I don't want you to_ care _god fucking damn it_.

“Go on”, he finally manages to get out, and Bruce does. At first a bit reserved, held-back even, but Jason becomes increasingly more desperate, humping his fist already to release at least _some_ of the tension – and then _finally_ Bruce fucks into him hard and it hurts and is _so much_ and Jason thinks he's never felt more awesome in his life and never will.

He's proved wrong a few thrusts later when Bruce comes with a loud groan and Jason regrets a bit that he let him use a condom.

Bruce pulls out and the feeling of emptiness washes over Jason but still he is painfully hard and he rolls over, starting to jerk off but all of a sudden Bruce's hand is on his and he mutters into Jason's ear, low and with a rolling bass that sends shivers down Jason's spine: “Let me take care of that.”

And Jason is actually a bit amazed because this has never happened before. The surprise must be written all over his face because Bruce smiles as he lazily strokes Jason's cock.

“Thought you might have found out”, he whispers, putting a bit of pressure on the head of Jason's cock, “I take care of my boys.”

And it's possibly the way he growls _boys_ , or how he implies Jason's just another thing he owns, or this fucking amazing hand job he's giving Jason, but Jason breathes in sharply and then he's over the edge and comes with a cry all over Bruce's hand.

When his orgasm wears off, he rolls to the side slowly, grinning at Bruce who watches him without any defined expression on his face.

“Could get used to that”, Jason mumbles.

Only as Bruce raises his eyebrows, he realizes what he's just said and his eyes widen.

“I didn't –“

“Will you stay overnight?”, Bruce cuts him off and for a second Jason contemplates saying no and leaving instantly.

Then he realizes that was never an option.

He nods and can't help grinning even wider.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason wakes up feeling fucked. Quite literally.

Which is a good thing because it means the night must've been pretty damn awesome.

He rolls over and suddenly realizes he remembers the night.

( _Fucking_ awesome.)

Just as he wants to lean over to Bruce and ask for another round, his phone starts ringing.

“Fuck”, he swears and sits up, trying to locate his trousers, but he has no idea where he kicked them last night. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”, he mutters, grabbing various items of clothing from the floor. When he finally discovers his trousers under the bed along with his mobile in the pocket, the ringing has already stopped.

It's his agent, which is a relief.

“Jason”, she greets him, obviously a bit annoyed, but ever so professional keeping her voice down and proceeding with the protocol right away. “You got the Saint Laurent shooting at nine am.”

“Fuck”, he mumbles for the millionth time and, unfocused because he's still trying to get his clothes together, “how much time have I got left?”

“It's nine thirty”, she says coldly.

“Damn”, he hisses, scrambling his clothes and putting them on as fast as he can. With a quick look he ensures Bruce is still asleep, and then Jason's headed out with a thundering head, trying not to trip as he calls a cab – guessing his driver is off somewhere else – while simultaneously trying to pull down his shirt and zip up his trousers.

  


The cab driver shows up spectacularly late – and Jason realizes it's a ten-minute drive into the city, god  _damn_ it –, saying nothing as Jason runs a hand through his hair over and over again, trying to make it look acceptable out-of-bed-like and not  _actually_ yeah-just-woke-up-in-a-billionaire's-bed-like.

“Stop there”, he orders the cab driver as he sees a pharmacy store swishing by, and gets out of the car. There's some girls nearby who, at his sight, start whispering and squealing, but his head still pounds too much to play the nice pop star. Jason rushes into the pharmacy and buys two packets of aspirin along with a pack of cigarettes, hoping they'll get him through the day.

When he gets off at the shooting location – a park along the river shore –, it's five to ten. His agent is arguing with what seems to be the photographer while Jason lights a cigarette and steps closer. “Hi”, he says – maybe a bit too relaxed, but he's fucking  _hungover_ and can't bear pulling off the nice guy. He hates himself for forgetting his sunglasses because the sun practically  _blinds_ him.

The photographer stops mid-sentence, just to put up a fake smile and shake Jason's hand vigorously. “Jason!”, he exclaims, “so lovely to finally have you here!”

“Yeah.” Jason doesn't feel like putting a lot more input into this conversation, which isn't needed either because it seems the photographer is pretty eager to get on with the shooting.

They don't let Jason finish his cigarette – and he hates Gotham's anti-smoking policy more than ever now –, instead dress him up and take the photos one after another. At least they give him sunglasses.

He lights another cigarette the second they let him off and checks his mobile. There's seventy-six new messages from eight chats, most of which revolve around where the fuck he's been since coming back to the city. And one missed call from Dick Grayson.

  


“The fuck,” Jason snaps at his mobile and scares off the fashion assistant coming near in order to get the interview from him. She nervously taps her iPhone, smiling at him awkwardly. “Um...could we...could we do the interview, maybe?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Jason mumbles, running a hand through his slicked-back hair and wiping it on the 600$ skinny jeans. He likes it. Might take one home. (Does, in fact.)

He gives the interview in a kind of haze, probably bombarding the interviewer with details about his private life he wouldn't want certain people to know, really – though with the headache he's sporting by now, he could literally lay out his entire sex life before the interviewer and wouldn't give a dime.

As soon as he's home he gets under the shower, letting the hot water run over his face for a while before his tense muscles relax, and his knees would give in if he didn't catch himself by pushing an arm against the wall. He stays in the shower for half an eternity because it's hot and soothing and when he closes his eyes, he almost feels alright. Before he feels sick again. And throws up twice.

Jason lies down on the couch not even bothering about drying his hair, feeling so sick and tired that he might just pass out on the spot. He's not even sure why the fuck he's so hungover, but he falls asleep too fast to think about it in depth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so short - i have no apology at all. i am sorry. i will try to get on with this, but i'm not sure where my inspiration is vacationing. thank you so much for reading!! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: im trying very very hard to get back into a fitting voice/tone. im not quite there yet. please be patient, i promise i'll update more often from here. seriously though.
> 
> @ the dick to my jason, you know who you are. this goes out to you, with the most formal apologies.

Jason wakes up because his phone is buzzing wildly on the couch table, but before he manages to sit up and grab it half-asleep, the buzzing stops. Groaning, he rubs his face and leans forward, successful in his search of clothes when he finds a pair of boxer shorts at last before the buzzing starts again and this time, he takes the call while putting the shorts on.

“Jason.”

It's Bruce. Of course it's fucking Bruce.

“Yeah,” Jason replies while getting up and making his way into the kitchen to find out whether there's anything edible, or better, drinkable left.

There's a small pause before Bruce speaks again:

“I was wondering why you left so early yesterday.”

That's irritating, though according to his watch it really is eight thirty in the morning. The next morning, that is.

“Had a shooting,” Jason says shortly, balancing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder while fishing for anything breakfast-worthy in the depths of his fridge. He only finds a small bag of cocaine which might come in handy some other time, and an apple which he takes with him back to the living room.

“I'll make up for it though,” he says when slouching down again on the sofa and taking a huge bite off the apple. He can almost see the corners of Bruce's mouth curving.

“How about tomorrow night then?”, Bruce says with a very low voice and Jason rolls over to lie on his belly, chuckling quietly.

“Sure thing,” he says and takes another bite off the apple. “I'll be there.”

 

And he will. Well, if there isn't anything better going on in town. Which he doubts. After all, there's still the ominous drawer next to Bruce's bed.

So when his phone starts buzzing once again a minute later when he's just tossed the apple into the bin, with Kori's pic flashing up on the screen, he prepares for turning her down already.

“Jay,” Kori greets him, voice a little rough, but surprisingly awake for this time of the morning. “Good to catch you, where the hell have you been these days?”

“I was in Paris until yesterday, sorry. How's things with you?”, Jason asks.

“Pretty good, what about you and the _I-don't-fuck-anything-legal_ boyfriend?”

(And Jason doesn't miss the slight cold undertone. Can't be mad about it, either. He'd be like that, too.)

“Amazing,” he simply replies.

“Great,” Kori says, “listen, I'm actually calling you because we – well, I'm throwing a party for Roy, 'cause he got signed for the Calvin Klein show at fashion week.”

“Awesome,” Jason says excitedly, “that's so great!”

“Yeah,” Kori mutters somewhat distractedly, “well, anyways, it's tonight – sorry for the short notice, but you know, if you answered your phone -”

“I'll be there”, Jason cuts her off.

“Great! See you then, my place at ten,” Kori replies and after a quick “bye” hangs up. Jason stares at the screen for a few more seconds before he gets up and makes his way to his closet which turns out to be very disappointing. He thinks about going shopping for a second, but then remembers he hasn't unpacked from Paris.

After turning over pretty much two huge suitcases, he finally finds the Moschino shirt he's been looking for. He decides to pair it with the trousers he got from the Saint Laurent shooting. Neat. It surprises Jason how much he looks forward to tonight. Might be because he knows some of Roy's friends owe him huge favors, and there's almost a 100% chance they'll turn up tonight, invited or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, feedback is greatly appreciated. most of all criticism and kicking my ass!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains detailed descriptions of use of cocaine.
> 
> i said i'd update more often!!! i hope this is useful, the working title for this was "ruby, gold and malachite."

Kori lives in a pretty awesome maisonette penthouse flat not even twenty blocks from Jason's apartment. He still manages to not turn up until five to eleven. Though it isn't really his fault, which he tries to explain while Kori hugs him, telling him he's _goddamn late, Jason, we're already through with the champagne_ , but he kind of got stuck because there was a mix-up with the interview he wasn't even supposed to – but Kori probably figures he mostly got stuck in front of his closet trying to decide whether this was a Nike evening or a Enfants Riches Déprimés one (he did go for the latter one, he loves those sneakers to death).

“So, who's here?”, Jason asks while trying to catch up with Kori walking through her hallway on her six-inch heels. “Practically everyone,” she beams while turning around to him, “I told everyone to bring their friends, too, so it's really -”

“Yeah,” Jason says, and he's really kind of impressed as they enter the living area which is practically crammed with people – he sees a lot of familiar faces. “Nice,” he grins and turns to Kori to ask where he can get something to drink, but before he opens his mouth she points up. “Bar's upstairs,” she says, “now go and have fun!” Before he can reply, a girl he remembers having seen in Paris at some after party – though the night was too far gone by then, so he's not sure if it's really her, and he doesn't bother asking because by now he's kind of craving some drinks – taps Kori's shoulder. He heads upstairs.

Getting to the bar proves to be tedious since the stairs and the living room upstairs are even more crammed than downstairs, and because every two seconds Jason has to stop and say hi to someone, and because he gets introduced to a friend's boyfriend which takes ages because the girl can't shut up about their six-month anniversary nearing, and _we're so happy together, aren't we, babe?_ which is weird since three weeks ago the blonde guy whose left hand is now nonchalantly sliding down the thin girl's back _swore_ to Jason he was single. Not that Jason had asked. Though the knowledge now amuses him.

When Jason finally arrives at the bar, asking for something nice to kick off while taking a look around, he's relieved at least the bar tender knows his shit and hands him a shot first thing. Jason downs it instantly, setting it back. “Good stuff,” he says loudly over the music, cocking his head. “What's in it?”

“Back Street Romeo,” the bar tender replies and looks up from the shaker, “Bailey's and Jameson. You never drunk it before?”

Jason shakes his head, then shuffles closer to take a look at the guy. He likes what he sees. Blonde, tall, all muscled-up, green eyes and a cocky grin that tells him he won't waste his time on this one. “I've really missed out, it seems,” Jason says, scratching the back of his neck. “What else have you got in store?”

“Depends on what you feel like,” the bar tender returns.

Before Jason can give an answer to that, he's tapped on the shoulder, and, turning around, comes to face –

A very drunk Roy screaming “Jason!”, almost punching him, but Jason manages to dive under his arm before Roy's fist hits him. Instead, Roy sort of stumbles and falls onto the bar, laughing hysterically to himself.

“Good to see you, man,” Jason shouts while helping him up, but the music has been turned up and Roy isn't very interested in listening to him, babbling stories to the bar tender who nods every once in a while, trying to keep a straight face.

Then Roy turns around to Jason and hugs him so tight Jason fears his ribs are going to break. “Whoa there,” he laughs while shoving Roy away and trying to simultaneously stable him, “so, how's things?”

“Great!”, Roy beams, “so great, all of it!”, and then turns to the bar tender, saying in a very solemn and calm voice, “Gin tonic for Jason and me, yeah?”, then proceeds to turn back to Jason, considerably troubled by keeping his balance. “Did you hear about the Calvin Klein show?”

“Yeah, I did, now calm down,” Jason grins and pats Roy's shoulders. “Well done, man,” and then smiles at the bar tender who's handing them their drinks now. “Thanks,” he mouths while Roy drags him along and makes a mental note to come back to him later on.

Roy empties his drink in one gulp and laughs at Jason, frantically pulling him through the crowd until they're at Kori's bedroom's door. Suddenly he seems to remember something. “Have you got some -”, he begins. Jason grins and pulls out the bag he retrieved from his fridge just before he left. Nodding to the bedroom, he leans close to Roy's ear, muttering, “It's not much, though.”

Roy shrugs. “It's enough for the two of us. For now,” he giggles and, opening the door, gestures in.

Jason puts his glass on the floor and empties the bag onto the bedside table. Turns out to be a bigger pile than he'd expected. Then again, he thinks, neither he nor Roy are new to the game. “Hey,” he calls to Roy, holding out a hand until Roy hands him his credit card, and racks up the powder.

When they've snorted it, Roy looks at the surface of the table which is still covered in the finest dust. “Kori's gonna kill us,” he says thoughtfully.

Jason stands up, rubbing the back of his head. “Please,” he gestures, grinning because he already feels the high coming on. Roy pretty much _beams_ at him, racking up the rest, and is just preparing to snort it when the door creaks open.

There's giggling and a sound that is quite akin to slurping, and Jason turns around fast, and the two boys whose bodies seem to be sticking to each other, standing in the frame of the door pull away from each other, and then everything happens somewhat slowly when the one whose hand is still lying on the doorknob turns his face from the other boy, but lets his other hand lie on the other one's hip as if to keep him close, and cocks his head.

“Sorry, we thought -”

Jason stares disbelievingly at him, because it's fucking ridiculous, because his eyes are huge as if this was a _surprise_ , honestly, because he's now retreating the hand from the other boy's hip and running it through his black hair, ruffling it all up, because now he's awkwardly biting his fucking all-puffed lips, and Jason can't think of anything but spitting out: “What the _hell_ are you doing here, Dick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so so much for reading!!!! i'd love it very much if you left feedback of some sort and i hope you have a good and relaxed day :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited! tho not very thoroughly, i'm afraid.

Dick stares back at Jason, a little stunned, and then his face _changes_ , his eyes widen, and is that a look of fucking _concern_? For a moment, all Jason can hear is the thumping bass from outside going straight to his bones. Then there's a movement behind him and Roy puts a hand on Jason's shoulder.

“Great to see you – two,” he says loudly, gesturing in Dick's general direction and Jason realizes by the weight on his shoulder that Roy isn't trying to calm him, but actually tries to keep himself from falling over.

“You – too,” Dick says hesitantly, and then the other boy comes forward, smiling like a goddamn idiot, and that's just the tipping off the edge Jason needed.

He pushes Roy away and makes his way for the door, shoving Dick aside as he heads straight downstairs and he _thinks_ someone addresses him but he doesn't turn back, and now his high is really hitting, and pretty much everything becomes unbearable overstimulus and he heads to the bar but the bar tender isn't there, so Jason helps himself to some shots, but his hand is shaking badly by now, so in the end he just gulps down half of what's left in the gin bottle, and then he staggers halfway down the stairs and bumps into Kori and pulls her close, shouting-muttering into her ear _who the hell invited him_ , and she asks _who?_ , and he points to her room, and says, probably very loudly, “my fucking ex, that's who” and after a second Kori's mouth forms a perfect _oh_ , and then she pulls him with her to the bathroom where there's only a very drunk couple making out against the sinkwho leave, giggling and grabbing each other, as soon as Kori and Jason come in, and Kori leans against the wall and the world is too loud and too much –

“Did Roy take any?”, she asks sharply, and Jason doesn't understand, doesn't understand what the hell she wants, and Kori breathes in deeply and specifies, “did he take any of your coke?”, and Jason says “yeah, yeah he did, but that doesn't really answer my question,” and Kori starts shaking a little and says “is anyone with him?”, and Jason says “well, _yes_ , Dick's still there, that's my _problem_ ,” and Kori just shakes her head, and then looks up and says in a rather quiet voice, “good, that's good.”

Which it isn't. Not really. But she's out of the bathroom before Jason is through with processing where to begin with asking questions.

He rubs his face and tries to breathe deeply.  His heart beats like fucking mad and his head is swirling a little, and when Jason steadies  himself, holding up  against the  sink he feels his hand trembling.  For a second, he closes his eyes.  Fuck.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , he says loudly,  and when he opens his eyes again, he sees the  medicine cabinet behind him in the mirror , and he leans over, reaching for it, when –

“Jason?”

Leaning against the frame  with his arm above his head and his lips  _still_ so goddamn puffed, and  his eyes big and his brows furrowed as if he was  _concerned._ Jason snarls, “I don't need your pity,  Grayson ” and  realizes he's a little too far gone for his own good, and it feels  _great_ .

D ick though,  pulling the door shut, just stares at Jason's face and says very slowly, “Jason, your nose is bleeding,” and to Jason's surprise he's right,  there's a hot metallic taste on his lips and he  takes a step towards the door, but before he reaches it, his legs starts shaking and he  has to lean back, trying to sit down on the edge of the bathtub .  _Fuck_ , he swears, and then Dick is beside him and everything in Jason screams to fucking push him away, and Dick  pulls Jason up and says his name and asks if he's  okay and Jason nods, because he  _is_ , he is perfectly  _fine_ ,  and Dick shakes his head, saying you're not, holy shit,  and then Jason breathes in deeply and the world stops shaking and comes to a rest.

F or a moment, there is no sound except Dick breathing into Jason's shoulder and – Jason isn't sure why it's so irregular why –

Then Dick pushes him over to the sink, turning on the tap. “Face,” he orders, and Jason guesses it's not a bad idea, so he leans down and splashes his face for a bit with – fuck, the water's ice cold. He groans.

“I know,” Dick says soothingly and pulls him up again, one hand on his shoulder.

Jason realizes this is all fucked up and steps back, holding up his hands so Dick lets go of his shoulder. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”, he demands, and Dick furrows his brows. “Trying to -”, he begins and breaks off.  Jason crosses his arms, propping his hip against the  sink in case his legs give in again,  waiting for a reply.

Dick rubs his eyes and groans. “Look, Jason, I think we should talk about -”

“I don't want to talk to you,” Jason cuts him off, because he realizes it's the truth. “I don't want you to think we're great friends or anything. I don't want you to ruin my good times, actually. Which you're doing.”

“Look, I'm sorry about – about what happened upstairs, I didn't mean to -”

J ason shakes his head slowly  and is quite happy to find the world is not as shakey as before. “ I'm done,” he announces and pushes himself up, “just try to  _not_ run into me  _everywhere_ , okay?” And he passes Dick, laying a hand on the door knob already when suddenly Dick steps between him and the door, pushing his hand off, glaring at Jaso n. “Listen,” he begins, seemingly searching for words but then catching himself,  cocking his head to the side . “ I know you  _ say _ you don't care, and I know you're terrible as  _hell_ when it comes to closure, but will you at least give me the  dignity of explaining?”

Jason steps back, standing with his legs wide apart, and considers a lot of possibilities, though none of them lead to him being able to escape this hell any time soon. Then he realizes Dick is a little bit more drunk than he previously thought, swaying a little when trying to stand upright and glare at him. “Alright,” Jason says finally.

Dick frowns, taken by surprise, and starts stuttering,  “ o kay, so, h e – he's a friend, and – we're not anything really, but he was in this movie I'm in, and it just sort of –“

“Hang on,” Jason interrupts him and starts giggling, “when did you turn _actor_?”,  and then adds, because he can't _not_ do it, “as far as I know, the last time you tried anything on camera, your only contribution to the role was a full frontal in stripper tights, wasn't it?”

Dick shoots glares at him, trying to not start laughing either. “That was  _performance art_ ,” he tries to justify and then breaks out into laughter, too, “but I swear, this one's better!”, an d  then they just laugh and Jason's belly hurts by now and he knows there shouldn't be so much relief in this, he knows this is  worth nothing , until  Dick runs a hand through his hair  which is already all tousled, probably from the asshole back upstairs, and says quietly, “ Listen,  I get you're upset about –“

“I'm not upset,” Jason corrects him quickly, “not because of your – _friend_ ,” and now he doesn't feel a lot like laughing anymore, because _does Dick really think_ _he_ _'s like that? Does he really think Jason_ _cares about any of that?,_ and continues, “I just don't like people not minding their own business, you know.”

“I wasn't -,” Dick says, stunned, but Jason shakes his head and leans forward to open the door and then suddenly Dick leans in, too and his face is so close and so hot Jason can feel the heat radiating and Dick steps closer, away from the door, but doesn't say anything and frowns and his eyes are big and his breath is coming ragged now, as is Jason's.

Jason is pretty sure it's not smart to stay put where he is. He also notices Dick smells differently than he remembers, of something sweet, something entirely not-in-Jason's-life-right-now, and suddenly Jason wants to tell Dick about Bruce and about Paris and about everything else that is not Dick's goddamn business, which wouldn't be smart either, but he doesn't want to be smart, his goddamn fucking life he's always chosen the  easy way over the smart one;  and he wishes the cocaine would blur out his entire mind until there's nothing but whiteness left.

I don't, he wants to say.

But the words never leave his lips, get stuck and tangled somewhere between his brain and tongue. Like it's hard being an asshole about this. Like he couldn't just walk out of this. Hell, he's done it before.

Jason looks up again and Dick is frowning just a little bit as if the little distance left between their faces left anything to speculation,  and Jason knows how this will end, knows, if he lets it happen, he'll lose more control than he already has – and he's just about to  tip his head forward and surrender when Dick whispers  _you don't have to_ –

And just like that, Jason pulls back and says  _I really do_ , and steps aside, opens the door and leaves.

He's not sure how he makes it upstairs with the world having started to spin around ever faster, but he somehow does, bumping into Kori halfway to the bar, who's busy shoving her tongue down a very high Roy's throat, and he really has no idea how on earth he ends up in her bedroom, on the carpet beside the window, but he does and then the light fades and everything goes soothingly black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "all first drafts are shitty" - cf anne lamott
> 
> thanks for reading!!!!!! feedback is, as ever, greatly appreciated. and if you think youve wasted your time reading this, let me know pls.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bigger update should happen tomorrow ...if anyone's even still reading this as one work

Jason wakes up because the sun shines into his face and his tongue feels like it's grown twice its normal size. He squints a few times, then tries to sit up.

Nothing happens.

He flexes his shoulders and pushes himself up on one arm.

He's in Kori's bedroom.

Good.

He's in Kori's bed.

What?

“Good thing you woke up,” she says, sitting at the bottom end of the bed, and puts away her mobile. “You were pretty out of it yesterday, huh?”

“What –,” Jason croaks, barely producing any sound at all.

“Roy's a bit better, but not much, if it helps,” she says, jumping up from the bed. “Water's on the bedside table.”

Jason nods. Bad idea. His head pounds intensely.

“You can have breakfast,” Kori says cheerfully, “whenever you feel like it.”

And with that, she's out of the room. Jason sinks back into the cushions, groaning. His mind feels like a blank spot. Is one, actually.

Okay. Going back chronologically, then.

Passing out on the carpet. He remembers that.

Doing coke with Roy, yeah.

Drinking? Obviously. He just doesn't know what. Or with who.

Jason rolls to his side, realizing he's still fully clothed. Okay. That's better.

He reaches into his pocket, but doesn't find his cigarettes right away. Damn. Bedside table, then. He's not overly happy with Kori's choice of Pall Malls, but lights one anyways, and the first drag is heavenly, before he starts coughing like the last of his fucking days has come, and he heaves himself over to the other side of the bed, drinking up the glass of water Kori left there, and just lying under the covers for some time until he can breathe again. Then, he pulls out his phone and goes through his messages. There aren't many new ones, two thousand people commenting on his last selfie on Instagram – that was three days ago, Jesus, can they calm down –, and some guy he hasn't spoken to in a year asking him _were you at Kori's yesterday? thought I saw you_.  Then four missed calls.

O ne by Bruce. Which reminds Jason there was a date coming up. He checks the time. Four pm.  Great.  That should be enough to get home and dressed up (if he ever gets out of this bed, which he doubts).

Three by Dick, and  _fuck_ , now there we go, and the embarrassment washes deeply over Jason as he turns around and buries his face in the cushions,  but the images come back regardless, Dick  shoving his tongue down the guy's throat, Dick staring at Jason as  if he was fucking  Marilyn Monroe,  Dick leaning over in the bathroom, smelling of goddamn piña coladas, fucking  _hell_ .

A message pops up. Speaking of the devil.

_hey hope you're alright. sorry about yesterday_

“Me too, man,” Jason mutters, “me too,” and feels a lot like throwing his phone through the room.

Instead, he empties the glass of water next to him and crawls back under the blankets without any intention of ever getting back out again. Which is overturned a minute later when he feels an all too well-known urge rise in the pit of his stomach, and he slides out of the covers and stumbles to the bathroom to throw up. It doesn't really help, he feels all too fucked up, so he goes for a smoke.

It's ice cold on the balcony, and when Jason pulls out his third cigarette, he thinks he's probably run out of excuses to stare at Gotham's skyline lit up by the sun shining through the freezing air.

He rereads Dick's message for no particular reason at all, and then, when he's smoked up, he decides this party is over and gets back in and hugs Kori and Roy and when his driver pulls up before the house, Jason thinks he should have known before none of this would end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you loads for reading. pls feel free to criticize whatever you don't like.


End file.
